Accusations
by Katia-chan
Summary: His brother had feelings that he felt he would rather remain ignorant of. It was easier to hate him that way. Companion fic to Story Time.


Accusations

By Katia-chan

A/N: Here's the companion fic so many people requested. To be perfectly honest, I don't think this turned out as well as its sister fic, but this is what I could do. I hope yall like it alright. Part seem rushed to me, but I hope it's passable.

Disclaimer: not going to say it. I refuse

Dedicated to all those who decided it would be good for this to have been written. The comments yall made in your reviews got me going off my lazy butt to get it done.

Enjoy!

XXX

The rain streamed down in sheets, determined to drown anyone who dared to have business to attend to that day. Yuki made a dash from the sidewalk and into his brothers shop, finding himself nearly grateful to be there, well, it was better than being a drowned. . . he shook his head before he could use the cliché. Shaking the wet hair out of his eyes he looked around warily.

Ayame's shop always overwhelmed him. Every single one of his senses was instantly put into overdrive as soon as he came in. The colors flew at him from every direction, the noise, the packed crowd, it all hit him at once, making him nearly want to turn around and make a dash for the bleak grayness of the rain streaked outdoors. The shop was exactly like its owner; Ayame was just as bright, just as loud and even more overwhelming. Merely being in his brothers presence always made Yuki feel tired and washed out.

"Yuki!" he wearily brushed his hair out of his face again, bracing himself for the interaction. This was something one had to train for, a marathon of patience and restraint. He raised a hand, not in greeting, but to stop the oncoming attack. His brother, uncharacteristically obedient, stopped at the gesture. Yuki decided he must have a very unpleasant look on his face and tried to soften it a little. Just because he thought the man an insufferable idiot most of the time was no reason to start things off badly. Besides, if he looked pleasant, Ayame wouldn't try to cheer him up.

"I'm here to pick up Shigure's package," he said, keeping his voice level. Ayame looked just a little puzzled, and Yuki clenched his fists. If Shigure had sent him here for nothing. . .

"Ah yes! Dear Gure wouldn't come and get it himself?" He was going to try and answer, to tell him in his usual clipped tones that Shigure was a lazy asshole, but of course there was no pause for the answer. "Its right up in my apartment, just wait a moment while I attend to this customer and I'll bring you right up! Maybe we can even have something to drink and a little chat."

He could feel the headache mounting, and his patience disappearing, so he shook his head. "No, just tell me where it is, I'll get it myself." Ayame looked crestfallen, deflated, for just a moment before he became his usual smiling self again. It was quite a transformation that made Yuki just a little uneasy, and made the tiniest pit of guilt twist in his stomach.

"Of course of course, my little brother, always so independent,"

"Get on with it," he growled. He was going to kill whoever was pounding the hammer into the back of his skull. Ayame waved off his irritable tone, as he always did and proceeded to tell him in detail where the package was. He moved on to what was in it and what purposes it would be used for, but Yuki stopped listening and walked away, pushing his way to the back of the crowd and slipping into the back room and to the door that lead upstairs to Ayame's apartment.

Once he had shut the door behind him at the top of the stairs and once the quiet had enclosed him again he felt a little better. Of course, no place where his brother lived could be very quiet, the living quarters were still loud with color, but it seemed more natural here, and maybe just a little less invasive, as if things had time to settle into their own patterns, reducing the chaos.

He walked into the tiny room his brother used as a study, going to the dresser where Ayame had said the package was. True to his rather long word, the box was sitting right on top, and he suspected that the little heart shaped post-its stuck on the sides were things he didn't want to read, so he slipped it into his coat pocket. Shigure had said it was pictures or something like that, from an outing he Ayame and Hatori had gone on a few years ago. Why it needed picking up now, he had no idea, nor did he care.

He was turning to leave when something glinting near the floor caught his eye. He turned to see what it was and saw that it was a key sticking out of the keyhole on the bottom most drawer of the dresser. It appeared that the drawer hadn't been closed properly, as it was ajar. Bending to close it the rest of the way he stopped with his hand on the handle.

Ayame could be private, he supposed, but for him to keep something locked, it seemed unnatural. Standing there in the quiet apartment he felt a sudden strong prick of curiosity that frightened him just a little. For some reason, the thought of what was in here made him desperately want to open this and find out.

He knew he shouldn't, if Ayame had ever done this to him the older man wouldn't live to see the light of day, and he really did want to stop, to just turn and leave, but for a reason he couldn't explain, even to himself, he wanted to know what his brother considered important enough to lock up.

His hand shook just slightly on the handle before he quietly pulled the drawer open. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he let it out slowly. There was nothing to mysterious in here, old papers, a few envelopes of old pictures. It all almost seemed a little to, well, normal, for something Ayame would have. He went to shut the door when he saw something brightly colored in the back. All thoughts of respecting privacy gone he reached back and plucked the object from its place between two stacks of photos.

A children's book? He stared at it, puzzled. Ayame was immature of course, but a children's book? It was a little uncanny. He idly flipped open the front cover, and then he froze.

His name was written on the inside of the cover, in a clumsy child's hand, the style of tiny fingers that aren't quite up to the task of holding the pen. He stared at it, transfixed.

He remembered this book.

It was a memory from far off, a little snapshot of bright sunlight and breeze, distinguished only by the jolt of pain that accompanied it. Without quite realizing what he was doing he slowly began to flip the pages, he couldn't even see the words. All he saw were the crunched edges where small fingers had gripped the paper, crushing it as they grasped for help that never came.

It had been a bad day. Akito hadn't been in a good mood. He wasn't allowed to go outside, to sick they said. Akito hated being told that he was to sick to go out, and as they were only children, he took it out on the only person he could.

The memory was still fresh and vivid. He remembered, remembered the pain in his welted and bloody hands as they tightly gripped the pages of the silly little story. Tears had squeezed themselves from his tightly shut eyes and dripped onto the paper. Flecks of his blood stained the edges, and he knew he had been praying. Praying for a lifeline, one that would never come, one that had never been there in the first place.

He had seen the three boys when he glanced out the window, and he'd felt it all through his little body. Those three boys out there didn't suffer like this, they couldn't. His big brother was out there, a stranger, but he looked so happy. Yuki had felt that no one had ever hurt him, that no one could. He was certain that that shining presence would protect him, save him from the cold that was inside, from little icy hands that wanted to hurt him. The boy outside, whose hands floated through the air as he spoke, would be his salvation. Why had he never sought out the bigger boy before?

Because it was never worth it. He opened his eyes now and slammed the book shut as hard as he could, his hands shaking. His brother had betrayed him, the first of so many times. Hatred rose so quickly in him that he had to catch his breath at the power of it. Did Ayame have any idea how much he had been needed? Yuki shook his head violently, his fingers making new creases in the book. Of course he had known, he just hadn't cared. His jaw clenched tight in his fury. Ayame had had the ability to save him, but instead he had sent him away. It had taken him years to learn, years of running to Ayame for comfort, for something he couldn't name, before he realized that his brother would never deliver. The betrayals simply stacked up, one on top of the other. Ayame didn't have the ability to care; Yuki was convinced of that now. The arrogant bastard had been able to give him over to die without a single backwards glance. He had merely been an inconsequential sacrifice to his brother's enchanted life. Yuki's suffering had never left a dent in the smooth rose petals of Ayame's existence.

But he had kept the book.

Yuki slowly let his hands release, his eyes opening and staring down. After all these years this silly little book was still in his apartment, still there, still reprimanding. Guilt coated its pages, nearly palpable now that he took the time to notice it.

He stood there, indecisive. He could put the book back, allow his brother to continue twisting a knife into himself, or he could take it with him, give him a reprieve, let him rest.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened, he could hear it, and Ayame's loud voice drifted up. "Yuki! Are you finding it alright?" the voice came closer as Ayame climbed the stairs. "What are you doing up here all this time?"

It was now or never. He could confront him, could take this little volume and brandish it in his brother's face, demand to know. Demand to know why he'd pushed it away, demand to know why he still had it. He could find out how deep this particular canyon went between them. He could tell him that he forgave him, could lessen the guilt that this book brought.

No, not yet.

He wasn't ready. He didn't want to know why. He didn't want to have to forgive Ayame yet, didn't want to know his brother's guilt for what it was and accept it and do his duty by assuaging it. He couldn't make it worse, rebukes we give ourselves are more powerful than the ones others give us, but he wasn't ready to let it pass under the bridge. The open scars still stung, and he wasn't quite ready to let them start to heal just yet.

"Nothing," he called softly, slipping the book back into its place and closing the drawer quietly.

Maybe someday, but not now.

XXX

A/N: I never claimed that the companion fic would resolve anything. . .

Review, please?

TTFN

Katia-chan


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